


a fruit in season

by bookhobbit



Series: 2019 Season of Kink Bingo [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Denial, M/M, Making Out, Season of Kink 2019, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: As Mr Norrell has always held, eating apples from strange orchards in Faerie is a generally unwise life choice.(For 2019 Season of Kink, prompt: Aphrodisiacs)





	a fruit in season

**Author's Note:**

> This was my free space and I make no excuses whatsoever for how trashy and ridiculous it is. I DO make apologies for the lack of betaing; please feel free to point out my typos.
> 
> Sex pollen as a concept being what it is there are some potential consent issues here, but nothing that actually goes bad.

The difficulty had all started with the apple. Mr Norrell had  _ told  _ Strange not to eat the apple.

"It's only an apple," said Strange, plucking it from the tree and putting it into the basket. It was, Mr Norrell was willing to admit, a very handsome apple, blush-pink and yellow, but that only made him more suspicious.

"Under the circumstances I hardly think foraging is wise, Mr. Strange. You never know what magic may be contained in fairy-food."

"Being trapped here for a hundred years could hardly worsen our circumstances," said Strange, plucking another apple. "Anyway, we must eat something. I'm growing very tired of the supplies in our larder, no matter how often they may renew themselves."

"Something, yes, no doubt, but apples growing wild? If you are not alive to the risks of ingesting an apple of mysterious province," said Mr Norrell, worrying the sleeve of his coat, "you might at least consider the possibility of retribution."

"The land belongs to no-one, Martin Pale said so."

"Martin Pale, giant among magicians though he was, last journeyed in these lands some two hundred and fifty years ago."

"I have a fancy for apples," said Strange, and that settled it. He would not listen to reason, nor to pleading. Mr Norrell resigned himself to the possibility of losing his only companion in this Darkness. That the spell might break if Strange died was no comfort whatsoever; Mr Norrell would then have to return to England himself. And supposing Strange when mad,  _ again _ ? Mr Norrell was neither young nor strong and was hardly in a position to restrain him should he decide to do something awful.

Perhaps  _ he  _ would be killed and then where would they be? Strange would return to his senses with the knowledge that he had murdered his former tutor and be struck with remorse, lost in his grief with no one around to make eggs that were not as hard as india-rubber or to remind him that, regardless of whether or not they actually saw any other persons, combing his hair at times was indicated. 

Mr Norrell brooded as they walked back to Hurtfew. No, this was not a positive development. He wondered whether he could steal the apples, but Strange, perhaps intuiting that the objection would be taken to such heights, was keeping the basket very close beside himself. Moreover, he was not Childermass and had no ability to be stealthy.

Mr Norrell switched to fretting. Very well, then, he would be murdered in his bed and there would be nothing anyone could do about it. He fetched bread and cheese and soft-boiled eggs and tea for their supper with a growing sense of foreboding.

The soft-boiled eggs were less soft-boiled than he had intended, for he had become distracted with the fretting, which took up a good deal of concentration. Also, Mr Norrell never managed to make tea with what anyone would call personality. Strange looked less than satisfied.

"I shall have one of my apples," he announced, when he had finished.

"I must call your attention once again to the unwise nature of--" began Mr Norrell, but Strange had already departed for the larder.

Mr Norrell brooded a little while longer. He considered absenting himself, but decided that it was his Duty as Strange's friend to remain and see through whatever horrible events might arise.

"Why don't we go into the library?" said Strange, reappearing with his mouth full.

"Not with food!" said Mr Norrell, appalled. 

Strange took another pointed bite of the apple.

They sat there in silence until Strange had finished it. Strange ate with every evidence of enjoyment; Mr Norrell fretted.

At length, Strange rose and put the apple-core in the rubbish bin. "Well, then," he said, wiping his hands on the table-cloth. "Shall we?"

Mr Norrell watched him very keenly, but he could see no signs that Strange was now mad. He said, "If you feel an urge to destroy books, even the tiniest little urge, you must tell me at once, and leave the library immediately."

Strange laughed. "Really, Mr Norrell. It's only an apple."

Mr Norrell pursed his lips and went into the library to take a book off the shelf.

For half an hour, or perhaps three-quarters, everything was peaceful. Mr Norrell wrote some notes on the geography of the place they had found themselves, by way of update to and commentary upon Martin Pale's own work. He did not write anything about the apples, but he left space for it, just in case.

After a while he got up to look among his books for something about the nature of fairy government, to see if he could tease out the ownership of land in these parts. 

"Mr Strange, have you Souwick's On Fairy Lives?" he said, looking at a blank space on the shelf.

"Yes. Would you like it?"

"Only if you have finished with it." 

Strange stood and handed it over; for a moment his hand brushed Mr Norrell's. Mr Norrell held his breath, tense, at the touch of it.

"I do feel quite odd," Strange said thoughtfully. "Perhaps, after all, there was something in what you said."

"Have you an urge to destroy books? Tear paper? Break bookshelves?" said Mr Norrell, holding the book to his chest. 

"No," said Strange. His voice sounded a little distant, a little dreamy. "I have the strangest urge to..."

"To what? To what?" said Mr Norrell, looking around for an escape.

Strange drifted a bit closer. This put him in uncomfortable proximity to Mr Norrell, who began to think wildly of the most unpleasant thing he could conjure -- being struck unexpectedly, having his books taken from him -- to distract himself from the smell of Strange's shaving-soap. Luckily this was not so very difficult, as the probability of being struck was growing stronger by the minute. Strange, being more than a head taller than Mr Norrell, had a very distinct ability to loom when he wished to; he was doing so now.

"Mr Strange," said Mr Norrell urgently, "The urge to what?"

Strange smiled an ironical little smile and leaned down. His face was extremely close to Mr Norrell's now. Mr Norrell could see the very faint pattern of freckles on his skin, invisible to the casual glance, although he himself had noticed them a very long time ago. He could see the thick eyelashes and the quick mischievous eyes, the texture of the lips. He reminded himself that he was in grave danger.

"An urge to what," he said again, though not hopeful that he would get an answer.

Strange lifted a hand, and Mr Norrell flinched, his eyes shutting of their own accord. But it was not a blow that came next. Strange's hand landed on Mr Norrell's shoulder, firm but not violent, and then his lips landed on Mr Norrell's mouth.

Mr Norrell's eyes flew open. In order, this is what went through his mind: 1. What? 2.  _ What _ ?! 3. Oh! God 4. Oh no...

His body, unheeding any of these thoughts, at first froze solid and then woke up to what was happening. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms round Strange, his mouth loosening and opening a little under the weight of the kiss. 

Was this a dream? Mr Norrell's dreams were rarely so coherent. Nor were they so vivid, for in them kissing Strange felt like nothing very much, and here it felt like a kiss. Warm and a little wet, a lighting-strike in his head that made him feel slow and stupid. Perhaps it was a hallucination. Perhaps he was the one who had eaten the apple--

_ The apple.  _

Mr Norrell jerked backwards, breaking away from the kiss. "Mr Strange," he said, surprised at how weak his voice sounded, "You are not yourself. I believe you may under an unsavory influence."

"Mm?" said Strange, trailing a thumb along Mr Norrell's lips.

Mr Norrell closed his eyes and steeled himself, but Strange's touch seemed to turn his mind to drifting feathers. "The apple," he said. His lips caught Strange's thumb a little on the  _ p _ .

"What of it," said Strange.

"I believe--you said you had the strangest urge..."

"Yes," said Strange, "Yes, I admit it was probably the apple that made me think to kiss you." 

He bent down to do it again, but Mr Norrell turned his head away, though he could not readily back away. "Mr Strange, you are drunk."

"I am by no means. I think you'll find my speech perfectly coherent and my coordination delightful." Strange held up a triumphantly steady hand.

"But you see, you would never have had the idea without the apple."

Strange shrugged. "So much the better to have eaten it, then. I feel delightful." And he leaned down to kiss Mr Norrell again.

Mr Norrell turned his head away again, but Strange simply kissed the corner of his mouth, pressing feather-light against it, then against his jaw. His lips skimmed the corner of the jawbone. It seemed to sparkle all down Mr Norrell's neck as he kissed just above the collar, gently in a little line. 

He pinched his lips together hard. Would it really be so bad to let Strange continue? He had made an attempt to stop him. He could, after all, justifiably say that Strange was stronger than him and overpowered him. As Strange sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck and his knees weakened, he considered that it would not even be a lie. And perhaps Strange would not remember.

Perhaps Strange would not remember.

Mr Norrell could have gone his whole life, even were that life an extra century, without knowing what it would feel like to be kissed by Jonathan Strange, and he would have resigned himself to that. He had. This new thing, this hateful awareness of how like a dream it felt to have Strange's mouth on him, this unshakeable knowledge of exactly how his lips felt against Mr Norrell's skin, how his hands moved along Mr Norrell's arms, this was unbearable. He was not going to be able to forget it.

How would it be if Strange did not remember, and Mr Norrell did? How would Mr Norrell face him without giving into the temptation to kiss him again, and then of course facing the humiliation of rejection?

Or if Strange did remember, he would never be able to look Mr Norrell in the eye again. He would cease to bestow upon Mr Norrell those careless small intimacies, like hand-touching and appearing in shirtsleeves, that had hitherto been his custom to scatter. They were torment and pleasure in equal measure and Mr Norrell did not want to give them up. 

The best course of action was for Mr Norrell not to reveal how much he was enjoying this, and to get Strange to go to sleep until he was sensible again. Then they could excuse it as unwholesome magic and Strange would never eat another fairy apple and--and--

Strange pinned Mr Norrell's arms above his head and pressed the length of their bodies together. 

Mr Norrell made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Mr Strange," he said, trying for reproof but landing squarely in gasp. "Mr Strange, you must release me."

Strange did so. "Do you not enjoy that?" he asked solicitously. "Many people of my acquaintance enjoy it."

Mr Norrell, who was most assuredly one of them, tried to think of what to say, but he was not in best form right at this very moment. Though his hands were free, their bodies were still pressed together. "You are a married man."

"Don't be silly," said Strange, "Arabella won't mind a thing like this. We are soldiers, you know, soldiers fighting a kind of war in the dark--"

"Ridiculous," said Mr Norrell, "I have never been a soldier."

"Well, at any rate, here we are all alone--"

"Not forever."

"It's not forever," said Strange, running a hand down Mr Norrell's chest. "I said nothing whatever about forever. Don't you feel lonely here, always in the dark?"

Mr Norrell took a deep breath in an attempt to fortify himself against the feeling of Strange's hand, which was coasting lazily downward. He could have grabbed it and stopped it, but he did not quite have so much willpower. "I am not lonely; you are here."

"Exactly my point," said Strange. His hand found a hip and his thumb pressed down it, massaging. Mr Norrell took another deep breath, which was much shakier than he intended it.

"Consider how you will feel in the morning," he tried. "No doubt very ashamed. I should not like to lose your friendship."

"Ashamed? What is there to be ashamed of?" Strange's hand felt warm even through Mr Norrell's shirt as it slid up under the waistcoat. "It is a need that every man must respond to."

This only vexed Mr Norrell further. "I have never found it a  _ necessity  _ myself."

"Perhaps you should try it."

"Really," said Mr Norrell, empowered by annoyance to push Strange away.

Strange stepped back and smiled a little. "Forgive me, sir. I do not mean to offend you."

"Well," said Mr Norrell. Perhaps there was a chance here. "If you wish to make amends, you will go to bed."

"Ah!" 

"To sleep! Alone!" Mr Norrell's mind filled in a picture of what Strange in such a state was likely to do other than sleeping, and he blushed. 

"Why?" Strange cast himself against the wall in a pose that was no doubt to look rakishly inviting; Mr Norrell was not unsusceptible to it. "We could have a much more fulfilling evening if you came along."

Mr Norrell, finally free of the magnetism of Strange's immediate proximity, began to inch from the room. He did this very slowly, because his body was not yet convinced that they had done with the business, and he was fighting it. "Have you never done something you regretted while in your cups?"

"But I'm not in my cups."

"It comes to the same thing. Imagine if I had put a spell on you, forcing you to--to come to me--"

"But you did not. And you would never do such a thing. It would be a most unrespectable magic." Strange pulled himself off the wall and began advancing towards Mr Norrell.

"Exactly," said Mr Norrell, scooting backwards. "And therefore I shall not take advantage of what is, in the same way, not your own desire, but an artificial one. It may not be my spell, but in effect--"

"Now, hold on," said Strange, evidently settling in for an argument, his immediate goal forgotten. "The cases are not in the slightest parallel. If it were your spell, you would be compelling me to do something against my will. But in this case, I assure you, my desire--" He flashed a crooked smile and his eyes caught on Mr Norrell's lips-- "induced as a general force though it may be, is at this moment genuine. I am not out of my senses."

"But it is not for me, and therefore in the morning--"

"It is not, but you happen to be conveniently to hand," said Strange. Mr Norrell ruthlessly suppressed the crush of disappointment he felt at this, though he had known it was true. "But is there any harm, between friends? I do not suppose that you feel any real attraction for me, either."

Mr Norrell looked away.

There was a long pause. The absence of words is sometimes more revelatory than their presence, if one is paying attention.

"Oh," said Strange.

"It would be a loathsome thing," said Mr Norrell in a very tiny voice. "It would be exceedingly disagreeable to me. I know I have often--we have often disagreed, and I have often thwarted you, but it is not the same thing. There are some lengths--and you see, you are not in your right mind."

"Perhaps I had better go to bed, as you say."

"Yes," said Mr Norrell. "And in the morning, you will consider the inadvisability of eating strange apples."

Strange, most unusually for him, did not roll his eyes. Somehow this distressed Mr Norrell far more than anything else that had come before.

He undressed and went to bed very angry with Strange for eating the apple, and with himself for being unable to come up with a good solid lie at the moment of, as it were, truth. Why, o why, must it be so difficult to come up with these things spontaneously? Strange could do it; Childermass could do it; Mr Lascelles could do it. And now Strange was going to scorn him forever, if he remembered the entire incident, which seemed likely from his reasonably coherent behavior. And if he forgot, Mr Norrell would have to live forever with the memory of what it was like to kiss Strange, and know that it could never happen again.

Mr Norrell, in short, brooded.

He slept poorly and woke up early, making himself tea and taking it back to his own room. He felt far too ill to think of facing food, and contemplated the possibility of an incoming headach hopefully. Strange knew not to disturb him when he had the headach.

A headach was not forthcoming, and he began to grow hungry.

Strange was in the kitchen. Mr Norrell started and began to back away before Strange could see him, but he was arrested by the curious activity Strange was engaged in: throwing first one apple, and then the other, out the window.

Mr Norrell was far too weak a man not to say "I did tell you so."

"Yes, thank you," said Strange crossly. "Wretched fairies. Wretched apple. I simply wanted fruit!"

"Very bad for the digestion," said Mr Norrell, "especially when taken raw."

Strange glared at him and threw the basket out the window too.

"Mr Strange! We will need that! We may have to forage for magical supplies!"

"Damn magical supplies," said Strange, but added "I'll go and get it later."

"I suppose you have a sick head after last night."

"No. Well. No." Strange stared out the window. "No, I told you I wasn't drunk."

So he did remember. Mr Norrell wondered whether it would be better to apologise for the implications of last night. But if Strange didn't want to think of it, Mr Norrell was by no means willing to bring the subject back up. "Toast," said Mr Norrell, for lack of any other subject.

"I don't want any toast," said Strange, and took himself and his own personal stormcloud into the library.

Mr Norrell made toast, with preserves, and also chocolate. The worst was coming to pass, he feared; Strange would no longer wish for their friendship to continue, and it would be difficult to avoid a man when you were magically bound to stay no more than one parish-distance away from him at all times and had no other Christian company than his. Besides that, how would they manage the library? Strange would naturally want to read the books, but Norrell would certainly not allow them to be taken out and put in a different library.

He decided he had better get it over with, and went in himself.

"There you are," said Strange, who was sprawled over the sopha. "Where have you been?"

"Eating breakfast." 

"You were long enough about it."

"Mr Strange, you are being singularly rude."

"I didn't think the dining room would do," said Strange. He pulled Mr Norrell down onto the sopha and kissed him.

To Mr Norrell's utmost annoyance, the sequence of thoughts that passed through his mind were exactly the same as last night's. In fact the whole experience was so emotionally similar that a wave of temporal dazedness suffused him for a moment. 

"What?" he said into the kiss.

"That's what I thought you'd say," said Strange. He kissed him again. 

Mr Norrell made a small and embarrassing noise he could not quite suppress as Strange tilted his head and deepened it. He felt that Life was trying him very sorely, and decided to let himself have just one moment longer before he did the sensible thing. Strange's fingers came up to cup his face, drawing him closer, and Mr Norrell's own hands clutched at Strange's banyan. 

Strange pushed Mr Norrell down onto the sopha, so that he was sprawled under him, and Mr Norrell made a decidedly louder and even more embarrassing noise. This was not going to be easy to explain away when -- when -- oh, what was he supposed to be remembering --

They parted for breath.

"I suppose you're wondering," said Strange only an inch or two from Mr Norrell's mouth, "'is he under the influence? Is he still lost in the pernicious depths of fairy-magic?'"

Mr Norrell's eyes were still closed. "I can only suppose that you are. I can see no other reason for why you would do such a thing."

"Yet you are not telling me to go away and think of how I will feel in the morning."

"I will be," said Mr Norrell, "Only let me gather myself a moment first."

To Mr Norrell's great disappointment and relief, Strange sat up a little, the sopha creaking as he shifted away. "Do you know what Heartsease apple is?"

Mr Norrell opened his eyes at last. "Yes, a fairy-fruit that induces in those who eat it an unquenchable longing for their most secret desire. The longing can only be stopt by obtaining the desire. A very unsuitable name, I believe. It is the subject of a fairy-tale in which a young lady--"

"Yes," said Strange. "Yes, exactly. And what does Heartsease apple look like?"

Mr Norrell's mouth flapped, like laundry on a clothesline.

"Pink and yellow," he admitted. "According to the fairy-tale. But you said it was not directed at me!"

"So I very justly assumed. It was only when I woke up this morning and could not stop thinking about you that I thought to be suspicious." Strange sighed, and began unbuttoning Mr Norrell's waistcoat. "It's very inconvenient, you know; I had a great deal of work to do. But it is not, I suppose, as though we were on any sort of deadline. And after all why not now?"

"Mr Strange," said Mr Norrell, all his thoughts careening around in different directions and colliding into each other in a most unhelpful fashion at the exact speed that Strange's hands were moving down his buttons, "You don't mean to tell me that I--that your most secret desire is--"

"I know," said Strange, moodily working a button, "I couldn't countenance it either. Greatest magician of the age you may be, but you are not the sort of man to rouse unstoppable passions in most people, you must admit. Well, not that sort." He smiled that ironical smile, and it so transformed his face from its previous stormy aspect that Mr Norrell nearly looked away. "I must be a person of singular tastes."

This curious speech was such a thoroughly mixed combination of high compliment and insult that Mr Norrell could do nothing except lay there, his breath coming faster and faster, as Strange finished the last button. 

"Oh," said Strange, pausing with the waistcoat open. "It was rather rude of me not to ask. I did assume from your reactions of last night that you would not be averse, but if that is not so--"

"Don't dawdle!" said Mr Norrell, too breathless to put very much ire in it.

Strange's smile widened and grew dangerous. His hands splayed out across Mr Norrell's chest, moving deliberately as he pushed the housecoat and waistcoat off the shoulders. Mr Norrell had never felt so bare as he did laying there in only his shirt and breeches, his cap askew and his face red.

Strange tilted his head and examined Mr Norrell very carefully. Mr Norrell squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, far too embarrassed to look Strange in the eye for long. He was half-convinced that Strange was going to suddenly sit up and declare that he had made a terrible mistake; but of course, Strange was suffering very greatly at this time, and so Mr Norrell should let him do this. It was the most selfless option, really.

Strange's hands stroked his sides slowly. A thumb went to the hip in the same place that it had last time. Mr Norrell bit his lip as Strange pressed through the thick fabric of his breeches. 

One hand came up back over his chest, up to his shoulder, to touch his neck and then his chin and then his lips. Mr Norrell felt as though he could not bear a single minute more of tension, but it stretched on and on. Strange's fingers trailed down his jaw, ticklishly along the line of his collar, ran through his hair (the cap becoming a casualty and presumably falling to the floor, though Mr Norrell did not notice).

"Interesting," said Strange at last.

"What?" said Mr Norrell, opening his eyes. 

"You haven't changed at all. Nor has my view of you. And thus, I think, it must be Heartsease apple. If it was some sort of love spell I should think I would see you differently." Strange's hands were moving down his chest again, restlessly.

"Your reasoning might be impacted," said Mr Norrell, still convinced this must be some sort of mistake, a little lost in wondering where Strange's touch would go next. "Perhaps you misremember."

"Hm. Do you know, during our lessons I used to think about shutting you up by kissing you."

Mr Norrell took a lungful of air the wrong way and started coughing.

Strange patted him on the shoulder. "Only when you were being particularly long-winded and dull. Many of the things you said fascinated me."

" _ Thank _ you!" said Mr Norrell, torn between outrage and bewilderment. "Is this how you generally think of persons you do not consider yourself attracted to?"

"I thought it was only an expression of my mixed respect for you and intense frustration with you."

"This conversation has contained entirely too many unexpected revelations for my comfort," said Mr Norrell. "Get on with it."

Strange leaned down to kiss Mr Norrell once again. The sopha was not quite big enough for both of them and it was awkward, Strange's elbows in Mr Norrell's space, their knees clashing, legs tangled. Mr Norrell wished they were in a bed and at the same time could not imagine anything better than this.

Well, no: he could imagine one improvement. Impatiently, he tugged at Strange's banyan.

"Ah!" said Strange knowingly, "That's how it is, eh?"

"It's only fair."

Strange stripped off his banyan and waistcoat, and resumed. Mr Norrell could not have imagined how intimate it would feel to be pressed against Strange with nothing separating their skin but shirts. He sneaked an arm around Strange's waist, marveling at the softness and the shape of his torso. How solid and real he felt. What would it be like to have Strange's bare skin against his own? Only the thought of it made him restless and frightened and eager.

"What is it that you would like?" said Strange, against his lips. "Other than this. If anything."

"I don't know," said Mr Norrell. "It is your secret desire we must exorcise. You may do--whatever seems best to you."

Strange grinned. And this, Mr Norrell was happy to observe, was what he did.

Afterwards, they lay on the sopha for a while. Mr Norrell fretted, but only about the books. It was probably inadvisable to have done this in the library; it was probably worse than eating. Next time they would have to have a proper bed. Also, his back hurt.

"It wasn't such a bad fruit, really," murmured Strange.

Mr Norrell tried to sit up and was thwarted by Strange's weight. "Good God! Of all the foolish things to say! Think of what ill effects it might have had if your secret desire had not been within reach, and this was one of the more benign things we could have encountered!"

Strange, Mr Norrell observed with relief, rolled his eyes.


End file.
